


Morituri Te Salutant

by ereshai



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Background Relationships, Canonical Character Death, Community: dc_dystopia, Gen, Implied Underage, Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester - Freeform, Loosely based on a fairy tale, implied Bela Talbot/Charlie Bradbury, pre Castiel/Dean Winchester - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-18
Updated: 2013-03-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 16:47:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/725574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ereshai/pseuds/ereshai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bobby Singer hires Castiel to find out why Dean and the rest of the kids in his group sometimes end up covered in injuries in the morning, when they were fine the night before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for dc_dystopia round 3: Fairy Tales. This fic is very loosely based on "The Twelve Dancing Princesses".  
> (Title translation: Those who are about to die salute you.)
> 
> Go and take a look at the [awesome art by comedicdrama](http://comedicdrama.livejournal.com/5524.html).

_“A fire swept through Sector 3, Block 125-A today, taking the lives of more than 200 citizens, most due to smoke inhalation. Among the 17 survivors were 6 children, who have been reassigned to new, loving homes. Clean-up and repair are expected to take no more than 2 weeks. This reminder from the Housing Authority, all applications for relocation will be processed in the order they were received._

_“In light of the recent spate of fires that have ravaged the Housing Blocks, the Protectorate wants remind us all not to block those fire exits.”_

_“Tragic, Kelly, just tragic. How many more lives could have been saved if people had followed the safety protocols?”_

_“How many, indeed, Bill. Coming up next, the Ration Report, and then Amy with the weather.”_

Castiel stood by the uncomfortable looking chair situated in front of Commander Singer’s desk. He had to admire the psychology of its placement. Anyone sitting in that chair would feel like a defendant at a military tribunal. Or an errant student facing a stern principal, which was more accurate. All the more reason for him to stand.

Commander Singer was sitting at his desk, grumbling into the phone. He had barely acknowledged Castiel when the pimply-faced aide had led him into the room. The aide had then left without announcing him; he hadn’t even waited to be dismissed. The lack of adherence to protocol disturbed Castiel. On the other hand, Castiel was not on any of the lists of approved sub-contractors, and this prospective job hadn’t come through official channels – protocol didn’t seem to be high on Commander Singer’s list of priorities; he wasn’t even in uniform.

“I’m telling you for the last time, I got no more room. This facility is approved for a hundred and twenty, maybe a hundred and fifty if I work it right, and we’re full up.” He paused. “You want to send me more kids, you send the housing and the personnel to care for ‘em, too.” Another pause. “Uh-huh. And it’s my ass if I’m caught, not yours. I’d like to keep my ass the way it is.” He listened briefly, then chuckled humorlessly. “That’s what I thought.” He placed the handset back in its cradle and ran his hand over his face.

Castiel waited in silence. Commander Singer sat back in his chair and looked at him thoughtfully. Finally, he nodded and punched a button on his phone.

“Pam.”

“Yeah, boss man.” The intercom crackled with static, but Castiel could hear amusement in the young woman’s voice.

“I’ll be out inspecting the barracks if anyone needs me.”

“Barracks inspection is scheduled for 1500.”

“And I’m changing it to now. You never heard of a surprise inspection before?”

“Oh, one of _those_. Gotcha, boss man. Take your damn radio with you this time, would you?”

Singer snorted and hit the button, ending the conversation. He yanked a drawer open, pulled out a small handheld two-way radio, and slipped it into the breast pocket of his shirt. He shoved the drawer closed again, pushing himself backwards at the same time, the motion oddly smooth. It was then Castiel noticed the two large wheels on either side of the chair. Singer maneuvered out from behind the desk and wheeled himself over to the door. There was a doorbell set in the wall; he pressed it and the door swung open. As he rolled out into the hallway, he jerked his head at Castiel to follow.

It was a short trip to the lobby, where Singer handled the heavy metal double doors leading outside with efficiency born of long practice. He was waiting at the bottom of the ramp by the time Castiel made his way down a handful of the terraced steps. Spread out before them was a green practice field, patches of packed dirt showing where heavier concentrations of activity took place. Nearby, a group of children stood in a circle, playing a game that involved kicking a ball in an intricate pattern Castiel could not discern. Further down the field, another group of teenagers were engaged in hand-to-hand combat training. Ten austere barracks were ranged on either side of the field, set just inside the chain link fence that surrounded the camp.

“Well, you’re smarter than you look,” Singer said to him when he reached the bottom.

“Sir?”

“You know how to keep your mouth shut. Almost everyone else started running their mouths as soon as they stepped one foot into my office. Qualifications this and discretion that. I could barely shut them up before they signed their own death warrants, and mine.”

“You believe you are under surveillance, sir?”

“Didn’t you serve in this army? Of course I am; the powers that be like to keep a close watch on everyone in a command position. Even if it’s a kiddie camp command.” Singer swiveled his chair around and pointed at one of the far barracks. “C’mon, we’ll start with J Barracks.” He led the way down the walkway.

“Kiddie camp, sir? I thought the correct term was Dependent Logistics Unit.” Castiel trailed behind him.

“Only on the orders that sent me here. Dammit, walk here beside me so we can have a conversation.” Once Castiel reached his side, though, he fell silent. Two women in Civilian Support uniforms walked by, nodding at them as they passed.

“What do you know about the Protection Act? About how it applies to kids?” Singer asked once the women were out of earshot.

“All children over the age of ten without suitable guardians become wards of the Protectorate, and are provided food, clothing, housing, and an education until the age of eighteen, whereupon they may be called to military service. If not called, they remain in reserve until the age of twenty five, followed by compulsory service in a support capacity until their term of service equals the term of care they received from the Protectorate. The same applies to any military service. Sir.”

“We don’t usually keep kids much past eighteen. The army’s always got a use for warm bodies on the front lines. So you’ll understand why I’m a little puzzled by the fact that I’ve got a kid here who’s twenty-two years old. His younger brother recently turned eighteen, and _he_ hasn’t been called up, either. In fact, not a single kid in C Barracks has been called up in months, and at least half of them are old enough to go. Any other barracks, they’re snapped up the second they’re old enough.”

“I fail to see how this requires my skills, or any sort of subterfuge, sir.” They came to a stop in front of J Barracks.

“I’m getting to that. Let me give this place a look-see first.” Singer entered the small building. The occupants were not present. There were twelve beds arranged in two rows along the walls, each with a footlocker and privacy screens. Sunlight streamed in through a bank of windows, brightening the drab room. Castiel noticed several small deficiencies, but perhaps standards were different on a DLU. The locker room style bathroom was clean under the bright fluorescent light. Singer also gave the barracks monitor’s private room a once over. The whole process lasted a few minutes, and did not include inspection of personal belongings.

“You can see we’re pretty laid back around here,” Singer commented as they departed.

“I do, sir.”

“Knock it off with the damn sirs. I may technically be active duty, but you sure as hell aren’t, and this isn’t a damn military installation.”

“As I understood it-“ Castiel began.

“Yeah, yeah. As long as I don’t break the rules, the military’s actual oversight here begins and ends with me, and I don’t choose to be a hard ass. I’m gonna make sure these kids get the care they need, and hopefully teach ‘em enough to get by when they get outta here. The Protectorate doesn’t care about minor regs.”

Singer quickly inspected I Barracks, which was identical to J Barracks, with a few more hints of the different personalities that lived there. They moved to the next building.

“Sir-”

“What’d I say about that?”

“How shall I address you?”

“Oh, hell, call me Commander, if it makes you feel better.”

“Very well. Commander-”

“I suppose you want to know about this job, then?”

“Yes.”

Singer finished his inspection of H Barracks, unsurprisingly the same as the previous two buildings, and they moved on to the next one.

“A few months ago, the kids in C Barracks started showing up injured in the morning. Not every morning, maybe every two weeks. Pretty obvious stuff, black eyes, bloody knuckles, a broken arm once. Thing is, they wasn’t injured the night before, and there’s no fighting going on between ‘em. Those kids are tight. You’ll see.”

“Perhaps the injuries are the result of a ‘schoolyard brawl’?” Castiel lifted his fingers to indicate air quotes, an odd gesture he’d recently learned from his brother.

“You may have noticed the complete lack of privacy? We got monitors in every barracks, and you can see how close together they’re placed. Plus we got guards on patrol every night. A fight that would cause injuries like those? On more than one occasion? Someone would have noticed.”

“What does their barracks monitor have to say?”

“Their first monitor never noticed a thing. They went to bed at night, and woke up beat up, as far as he could tell. His compulsory service ended a few weeks ago, so he left for his new life. That’s when I put the word out for a specialist.”

“The barracks has been without a monitor since then?”

The inspections had gone quickly, and they were now crossing the practice field to E Barracks.

“I didn’t say that. You were the second non-idjit to come through my door.”

“I see. What did this person discover?”

“As far as I know, not a damn thing. If he did know anything, he didn’t share it with me. Last week, the kids woke up bruised and bloody, and Victor was gone. Officially, he’s AWOL, or whatever civilians call it, but I got my doubts. The kids have been pretty down about it; Victor was a good guy. Strict, but not in an asshole way.”

Castiel nodded. “You believe he is dead.”

“Or as good as. The kids know something, but they ain’t talking.”

They completed the inspection of D Barracks in silence. C Barracks was next. From the outside, it was the same as the others. Castiel wondered if whatever set the C Barracks group apart would be apparent when they entered.

It wasn’t. The setup was same as every other barracks they had been in that day, but something seemed…off. He studied the room, but as far as he could see, the only thing that set it apart was the fact that it would pass muster on an actual military base.

“This is where you’ll stay, if you take the job,” Singer said, indicating the empty monitor’s room. It held a few basic furnishings, a bed, a dresser and two hard back chairs. It seemed he would be allowed company.

“Who has been staying here since Victor’s disappearance?” he asked.

“Ellen. She’s our unofficial Quartermaster. Her daughter, Jo, is assigned to this barracks, so she’s filling in until we replace Victor.”

“I thought the children here were orphaned, or abandoned.” Castiel surveyed the room again, trying to identify the discrepancy he _knew_ was there.

“Kids of support staff, too. It’s one of the perks, if you wanna call it that. Free housing and meals, an education, plus a head start on a military career, if that’s what they want. A lot of them do, these days.”

“And this Jo will not tell her mother what is going on?”

“Nah. It’s causing trouble between them, like they need help with that. Jo’s stubborn like her ma, and loyal to her squad.” Singer left the barracks and Castiel followed.

“Admirable traits.”

“Sure, when you’re not beating your head against them.”

“Indeed.”

Singer quickly finished inspecting the last two barracks, while Castiel waited near the doors. Seeing the identical layouts reinforced the feeling that something was off in C Barracks.

“So, you want the job?” Singer’s gruff voice cut through his contemplation.

“What are the terms?”

“A place to stay and food to eat, obviously. A small salary. It’s not much, but comps – sorry, compulsory staff - usually fill this role, and the Protectorate takes the view that the minimum amount they are supposed to get paid is really the maximum. And if you figure out what’s going on, I’ll get you an official sanction for contract work.”

“That would make things…easier. Does this mystery need to be solved within a specific timeframe?”

“Sooner is better. I had to move a new kid, Adam, into their barracks. He’s only eleven. I’d rather not see him hurt, or killed.”

“With your suspicions, why did you place him there?”

“I had my orders, and I don’t have any grounds to countermand them. Some bruises and one broken bone? That’s kid stuff. There’s a bed available, so in he goes. That’s one of the rules I can’t bend, let alone break. I didn’t want him in there, the squad doesn’t want him in there, but my hands are tied.”

“I thought the occupants of C Barracks weren’t being called up, despite their age. Did someone else disappear?”

“No. He’s taking Lily’s spot. Lily…Lily slit her wrists a couple of days after Victor disappeared. She was gone by the time we found her.”

“That is…regrettable.”

“That’s one word for it. What’s your answer, then?”

“Commander Singer, I will do what I can to discover what is going on.”

“Well, then, let’s go meet the Winchesters and the rest of their squad.”

**\--**

Castiel wasn’t sure what to expect. He had a vaguely formed idea that a twenty-two year old man who had not been transitioned to active military service as was customary must be unsuitable in some way.

 “Dean! Get your ass over here. And bring the rest of those brats with you,” Singer called across the field to the group who had been practicing hand-to-hand combat.

One the young men, the one who was working with the youngest – Adam? - of the group, waved a hand in acknowledgement and rounded everyone up with a quick gesture. They jogged over in tight formation to where Castiel and Singer were waiting.

“What’s up, Bobby?” Dean asked as they came to a stop in front of them.  Castiel had been wrong. Dean Winchester was definitely not unsuited to military life. Nor were any of the others, young Adam being the exception. Dean eyes met his and he couldn’t look away.

“I found you guys a new monitor. This is…how the hell do you say your name?” Singer abruptly demanded of him.

“Castiel.” That earned him a slow blink, and a muffled snicker from the waiting squad.

“Right. What he said. I’d tell you to go easy on him, but I know you too well.”

The young men and women ranged before them maintained mostly blank expressions, but there were one or two hastily suppressed smirks. Castiel ignored them, his focus still on Dean.

“Sure, Bobby,” Dean said, finally looking away. “All right, you guys hit the showers. It’s our free afternoon, don’t get too rowdy, you hear?” As soon as the rest of the group had dispersed, Dean turned to Singer with a grim look. “Could I talk to you? In private?” He threw that last bit at Castiel.

Castiel nodded and moved away. Dean didn’t wait for him to get out of range.

“The hell, Bobby? We don’t need another fucking monitor.”

“You know the regs as well as I do. While you’re listed as a ward of the Protectorate, you don’t qualify as a chaperone. And with whatever is going on that _you_ _won’t tell me about_ , I don’t know I would put you in charge.”

“You know I’d tell you if I could, Bobby. There’s no way you can get Adam into another barracks? Switch him out with one of the older kids?” Dean ran his hand through his hair.

“I’m working on it. He was assigned to your squad by the _regional commander_. I can’t just move him without attracting attention that we don’t need. Whatever is going on, it’s big. Too big for just one person to handle.”

“I get that, Bobby. I do. But I don’t care about the big picture. I’m just trying to keep my little piece of it safe. Is there anything we can do about Adam?”

“Maybe. I might be able to cite the age difference between him and the rest of you and transfer him. But he’d have to be causing trouble. And that’s about as likely as me getting up outta this chair and walking around.”

“I’ll talk to him. Once he – he’ll understand what he needs to do and why.”

“Think you can keep him alive and mostly whole until I can get him out of there?”

“I hope so.”

“I know it’s been hard since your dad left you-“ Singer began.

“I’m gonna hit the shower. Later, Bobby.” Dean jogged away, brushing past Castiel without a word. Castiel watched him go.

“Good luck. Dean isn’t going to make your job any easier,” Singer said as Castiel walked over to him.

“Their father left them?”

Singer turned and wheeled himself back toward the main building. “Let’s get you officially on board, and then you can move in to your new quarters.”

As they made their way back, Singer started to point out the rest of the buildings.

“There’s the mess hall. It doubles as a gym when the weather’s too rough. The food’s not terrible, pretty bland, but everyone gets enough to eat, so no one complains. That’s also where most of the kids go during their free time.”

“Commander, perhaps you could describe my duties as a barracks monitor.”

“Well, mostly you just stop them sneaking around at night, and keep them from killing each other.”

“Do you lose many children this way?”

“Not literally. I mean, keep ‘em from fighting with each other too hard. Your group is pretty well past that, though. What you gotta worry about is them pairing off and trying to find a little privacy, if you catch my meaning.”

“You are referring to sex.”

“Yeah, I’m referring to sex. We can’t stop it completely, but I’m not going to make it easy for them. The ones you gotta watch are Sam and Jess. Those two are practically joined at the hip during their free time.”

“I see. Is there anything else I should know?”

“You were curious about Dean and Sam’s dad? Forget you ever heard that conversation. As far as anyone knows, John Winchester is dead.”

There was really nothing for Castiel to say after that. Singer finished explaining the purpose of the various buildings on their way back to the main building. When they finally returned to his office, Singer put on a show for the suspected surveillance while they signed the papers that officially made Castiel a member of Civilian Support. Castiel wanted to believe he was being paranoid, but he knew from experience that Singer was most likely underestimating the resources at the government’s disposal.

“Go and get the keys to the barracks from Ellen. She’s usually in the mess hall this time of day. You remember where that is?”

Castiel nodded. “I do. Thank you,” he said, and left.

He made his way to the mess hall. The staff there were in a flurry of activity, preparing for dinner, but someone was able to point Ellen out to him when he asked.

“You’re jokin’, right?” Ellen gave him a hard look when he introduced himself and explained who he was.

“Not that I am aware.”

“He sent you in here at this time a day? I thought it was his legs that didn’t work right, not his brain.”

“He was still in his wheelchair when I left him.”

Ellen laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “I think I’m gonna like you. Go sit somewhere out of the way. I’ll find you when I’m done, and bring you up to speed on C Barracks then. Not in here,” she told him when he sat down at one of the long tables. “Outside. Go on.”

 Castiel obeyed the command and left the building. He sat in one of the benches scattered along the walkway. The practice field was full of children of all ages, the younger ones having split into smaller groups to play various games, the older ones mostly standing off to the side in their own cliques.

“I can’t believe you went in there.” Castiel looked up to see a sandy-haired young man standing off to the side. He recognized him as one of the occupants of C Barracks. “Everyone knows you don’t go in there while they’re getting ready for supper.”

“I wasn’t told.”

“Yeah, I guess not. You’re our new monitor.”

It wasn’t a question, but Castiel answered anyway. “I am.”

“I’m Max.” Max sat on the other end of the bench, as close to the edge as he could get without falling off.

“Hello, Max.”

“Didn’t they have anything available for your compulsory in your own unit?” As Max spoke, Castiel noticed some of the other kids from C Barracks drifting closer, until almost all of them were standing or sitting somewhere near, each of them trying to appear as if they weren’t listening.

“I’m not here on compulsory service.”

That made them all turn and stare. A red-haired young woman gaped at him before asking, “Why would anyone _want_ to be a barracks monitor?”

“I needed work.”

“Charlie, I’m asking the questions,” Max hissed.

“Whatever.” The girl - Charlie – rolled her eyes and flopped back on the ground. She was flanked by two other girls, one brown-haired, the other dark blond. A fourth girl stood a little farther off with two boys. Another boy lingered near Max.

“Max, ask him –“ the boy next to him began.

“I _will_ , Andy.”

Before Max could ask Andy’s question, a siren wailed, bringing all activity in the field to a halt.

“Time to eat,” Charlie crowed. She jumped up and hurried toward the mess hall, followed closely by the rest of the squad. Despite the large number of people converging on the mess hall, it was surprisingly organized. Castiel suspected Ellen was responsible for that.

He stayed where he was, watching the stragglers make their way into the building. If one ignored the fence, the view was very nice, a stand of trees blocking the nearby city from sight and giving the illusion of isolation. He wondered how long it would be before the growing city surrounded the ‘kiddie camp’, and if the trees would remain when that happened.

Ellen found him there some time later.

“You listen better than half these kids, I swear. Well, follow me. I gotta show you what keys go with what locks. Then I’ll introduce you to the squad officially. Knowing Bobby, he told them your name and left it at that.” Ellen walked away toward the barracks without waiting to see if Castiel was following.

“Thank you,” he said as he caught up to her.

“You want to thank me? Find out what’s going on with those kids. Yeah, I know why you’re here,” she added at his surprised look. “Bobby and I have worked together for years. I can usually figure out what he doesn’t tell me himself.”

There wasn’t much to show him at the barracks, just which key locked his room, and which one unlocked the supply closet. The rest of them were clearly labeled for doors in other buildings.

Ellen was quiet on their way back to the mess hall. Castiel wasn’t sure why a trip to the barracks had been necessary for two keys. He said as much to her.

“No mystery behind it. I just needed to see if you’re the kind of man I want around my kids.”

“I see.”

“You’re a strange one. More dangerous than you look, wearing that suit. You’d have to be. I don’t care what you can do, if you do anything to hurt those kids, no one will ever find the pieces.” They had reached the mess hall, and Ellen stopped, her hand on the door handle.

“I assure you, that isn’t my purpose here.”

“Now that we understand each other, let’s go meet the kids.” She pulled the door open and strode inside.

The squad was seated at a table near the wall. Another squad shared the table with them, but the separation between the two groups was very clear.

“Well, boys and girls-“ Ellen ignored the scattered boos and hisses that her greeting inspired. “I’m gonna do proper introductions for your new monitor, and officially wash my hands of you.”

Ellen started at one end, introducing them as she went around the table. “Dean, Bobby probably actually told you who he is. Adam, he’s new here, too.” The next three were the girl and two boys who had stood slightly apart when Max had tried to interrogate him. “That’s Jo, my daughter, and her partners in crime, Ash and Garth.” They nodded at him as they were introduced, then went back to their food. “Then you have Max, and Andy across from him.” The three girls were next. “Bela,” – the blond girl, “Charlie, and Ava” – the brunette. “And these two troublemakers, Jess and Sam.”

Castiel looked at them with interest. He remembered what Bobby had said about them being joined at the hip. Sam, he knew, was Dean’s younger brother. Even sitting down, he was obviously very tall. Jess, another pretty blond, smiled brightly at him. Her arms were covered with old burn scars, which she seemed quite unselfconscious about.

“Troublemakers? Us?” Sam grinned at Ellen.

Ellen smiled back at him. She turned to Castiel. “Okay, I’m going to throw you in and see if you swim. If you’re hungry, there’s still food. Anything else, fill out a requisition form. There’s extra copies in every barracks. I have to get back to work. Don’t break him,” she said to the squad before she left.

“You just gonna stand there?” Dean asked. Castiel looked over at him. Dean had green eyes, he noticed, then immediately wondered why he had noticed.

“No,” he replied, and walked away.


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel found his new role very easy to fill. Only Adam required much supervision, but his days were scheduled with classes, physical education both with others his own age and with the squad, and structured play time. Castiel’s only real duty, aside from actually monitoring the barracks, was to make sure the boy went to bed at night and woke up on time in the morning. The rest of the squad attended to their own schedules. Almost all of them were technically done with schooling, though some of them took advantage of the extensive library to learn on their own. Dean performed odd jobs around the compound, and could often be found in the motor pool, working with the mechanics. They all spent their free time training in self-defense and martial arts. He saw them at mealtimes, and listened to their conversations, speaking only when someone addressed him directly. It wasn’t much different from what he had known during his time as a soldier.

One evening, a week after he had taken the job, there was a knock on his door. He opened it to find Dean standing on the other side, two glasses in his hands.

“Hey, Castiel.”

“Hello, Dean. Is there a problem?” This was the first time Dean, or anyone, had approached him after lights out. If the previous pattern Commander Singer had reported held true, something was going to happen to C Barracks very soon. Dean’s presence tonight could not be a coincidence.

“No, no problem. You gonna let me in?”

Castiel considered him for a moment, then stepped back, pulling the door open wide. “Come in.”

“So, you’ve been here a week, and everyone is still in one piece,” Dean said as he walked into the room. He handed one of the glasses to Castiel. “I think that calls for a drink.” He sat in one of the hard-backed chairs

Castiel looked at the glass in his hand. It was filled with a light amber liquid. He sniffed it. “Alcohol,” he said.

“Yeah, I raided Bobby’s stash. C’mon,” he added at Castiel’s dubious look. “It’s just one drink.”

Castiel sat in the other chair and took a sip. It burned going down, and there was an odd aftertaste on his tongue that he recognized came from a mild sedative.

He glanced at Dean. Dean was sitting forward in his chair, forearms braced on his thighs, staring at the glass dangling from his fingers.

“I worry about my squad,” Dean said abruptly. “What’ll happen to them if I’m not around to look after ‘em, you know?”

“I know.”

“You got family, Cas?” Dean finally looked up at him and their eyes met and held.

“I have several brothers and sisters.”

“Older? Younger?”

“Both.” Castiel took another sip of the drink.

“You don’t talk much, huh?” Dean raised his glass to his lips and drained it.

Castiel shrugged. “I speak when I have something to say.”

They lapsed back into silence, Dean contemplating his empty glass while Castiel sipped at his drink.

Someone knocked on the door. Castiel’s arm jerked and he dropped his glass, the alcohol spilling across the floor.

“Shit.” Dean stared at the spreading liquid.

Castiel stepped over the puddle and went to the door. Another knock sounded just as he reached it.

“Dean?” came Sam’s muffled voice.

Castiel opened the door to Sam’s worried face.

“Hey, uh, Castiel. Is Dean with you?”

“He is.”

Dean came up behind him. “What’s up, Sammy?”

“Adam was asking for you. Could you come talk to him?” Sam gave Dean a hard stare.

“Perhaps I should speak with him?” Castiel offered. He was unsurprised by Sam’s immediate refusal.

“No, thank you. He wants to talk to Dean.”

“Okay. It’s getting pretty late, anyway.” Dean edged past Castiel and joined Sam.

Castiel looked past them into the darkened main room. With the privacy screens up, he couldn’t see if the beds were actually occupied unless he walked through the room, something he did a few times every night.

“It’s past lights out. I am aware that you don’t need supervision or an enforced bedtime, but Adam does.”

“Yeah, okay, I’m sure it won’t take long. We’re all pretty beat, anyway.” Dean clapped Sam on the shoulder. Sam gave him a tight smile.

“I, too, am feeling unusually tired tonight. Good night.” Castiel closed the door before they had even turned away. He undressed quickly, hung up his suit carefully, and put on the black tactical uniform he had hidden beneath his mattress. Then he lay in the bed under the covers, facing away from the door, and waited.

Approximately ten minutes had passed when Castiel heard a quiet click and squeak as his door was opened. He held himself still, his breathing steady, until he heard it close again softly.

He rolled out of bed and went to stand by the door. There was a muffled thump in the other room, but it was otherwise quiet. After several minutes, he opened the door and stepped into the main room - he would perform his regular walk-through. If he was wrong and everyone was where they were supposed to be, this would be just another night.

He looked at the nearest bed, Sam’s, and saw a huddled lump under the covers. Closer inspection revealed it to be a rolled up blanket. He checked the other beds; they were all made up in a similar fashion. The bed nearest the bathroom, Adam’s, was pulled away from the wall at an angle – possibly the source of the thump he’d heard. There was an angular shadow on the wall at the head of the bed.

As he approached the wall to get a better look, he realized the shadow was actually an opening, partially concealed by the hatch cover leaning against it. He moved the cover out of the way and stuck his head inside. The meager moonlight coming in through the windows was little help, but he could make out the rung of a ladder set into the wall across from the opening. He was in a one-story building; the ladder had to lead down.

Castiel pulled his flashlight from a side pocket and clicked it on. The opening did lead down, to what looked like a tunnel that branched off to either side. He crawled through the opening, onto the ladder, and climbed down, the light from his flashlight bobbing wildly as he descended.

The tunnel was dank. Pipes ran overhead, and there was an unlit light dangling just above him, the bulb covered by wire mesh. He shone his light down the tunnel in either direction. Both were equally unrevealing. He had no way of knowing which way Dean and the rest had gone. On a hunch, he turned and walked down the tunnel, keeping his light on the pipes above him, until he came upon another ladder set in the wall, leading up to what he presumed was B Barracks, judging by the large ‘B’ stenciled on the wall next to the ladder, and his own sense of direction.

Castiel debated exploring further, but he had no way of knowing who he might meet while searching. Dean, and therefore C Barracks, was not ready to trust him. Finding him down here now would not help that. Given Victor’s disappearance, anyone else who was involved was likely to be dangerous, and Castiel would rather meet them when he was at less of a disadvantage.

He returned to his own barracks, replacing the access cover as he had found it. He changed into his usual sleeping clothes and stowed his tactical uniform back under the mattress, threw a towel over the sticky, drying mess on the floor, and placed the empty glass on his bedside table. Then he crawled into his bed and listened for Dean and the others to return.

\--

“Yeah, I know about the maintenance tunnels. I sent someone down to check ‘em out, but they don’t go anywhere. Just like the blueprints show.” Commander Singer waved his hand dismissively. They were sitting on the bench near the mess hall – or Castiel was sitting on it, Singer was obviously in his chair. Several squads were running drills on the field before them.

“And do you trust the person you sent?” Castiel asked.

Singer gave him a hard look. “More than I trust you.” He sighed. “Guess I’m gonna have to rethink that.”

“I have no reason to lie or mislead you.”

“According to you, anyway. For the sake of getting somewhere, let’s just say you’re right and go from there.” Singer rubbed his hand over his face. “What’s your plan?”

“I need to build trust with the squad. Then they would be much more likely to confide in me when I eventually confront them about this.”

“If you say so. I told you they liked Victor, but they never told him a damn thing.”

“I still intend to learn what I can through subterfuge.”

“Way to build the trust.”

“Have you not already been deceiving them? And yet you feel they should trust you.”

“That’s different!”

Castiel shrugged. He could get into a discussion of the ethics and morality of the situation, but it would be pointless. They were set on their course, and if they were lucky, everyone would be alive at the end to be angry at the deception.

“I believe I will join the squad during their drills.”

“Better get changed, then. Dean plays hard.”

Castiel nodded; he had noticed that over the past week. He left Singer at the bench to go and change out of his suit. The inhabitants of C Barracks were due for their field time.

To say that Dean was unimpressed by Castiel’s presence was an understatement, judging by the eyeroll he shared with Sam. There were several bruises on his forearms, and certainly more hidden by his clothing, if the stiff way he moved was any indication. The entire squad, with the exception of Adam, was performing at less than their best.

Dean set light physical exercise for everyone, and pulled Sam aside, speaking to him quietly. Castiel tried to get close enough to overhear without being noticed.

“-gotta win next time, if we want to learn anything. Dad-“ That was all he caught as he moved past them. His curiosity about Dean and Sam’s father was only growing. He resolved to look into the man’s history as soon as he could arrange to speak with his brother.

“All right, everyone pair up. We’re going to work on defending ourselves,” Dean announced. Nobody complained, although Castiel had expected at least one remark from Charlie or Jo, the two most likely to go toe-to-toe with Dean on every little issue. “I’ll be nice, and let everyone pair up with their buddies. Don’t get too excited,” he added when a couple of them cheered. “Tomorrow we go back to changing partners. You still need to learn to go up against all different styles of fighting and how to deal with opponents of all body types.”

Adam stood off to the side as everyone paired off. Castiel went to stand next to him.

“Do you need a partner?”

“Well, Dean usually helps me out, since I don’t know too much right now. But he’s-“ Adam gestured at Dean, who was walking  among the sparring groups, offering advice and encouragement.

“Come, I’ll show you some tricks to use against a larger opponent.” Castiel moved to stand facing the boy.

“That’s everybody,” Adam said as he went into a defensive stance. Dean had obviously taught him well.

“Then this will be extremely useful to you.” Castiel ran him through the basic moves, pleased to see he was familiar with most of them. He taught Adam a few less common moves, as well, demonstrating them and then talking him through their correct execution.

“Not bad,” Dean spoke from behind him. “We should spar some time.”

“Perhaps when you are less bruised,” Castiel replied, gesturing at Dean’s arms.

“Yeah, I fell out of bed. I’ll let you two get back to it.” Dean ruffled Adam’s hair and moved on to the next pair.

When physical training finally ended, Castiel felt he had made some progress, at least with Adam. The rest of the squad was looking at him with slightly less disdain. He doubted that would go away completely until he’d put the best of them on the ground a few times.

Castiel waited with the rest of the boys – men, he supposed, given that many of them were old enough to be sent to the front lines – while the girls – women – showered. It was one of the few concessions to gender he’d witnessed in his time at the camp. When they finally filed out, with Charlie tossing a “We’re going to the Hall,” over her shoulder as they left, the men went into the shower room and started undressing. Each of them had a locker to hang their clothes and keep their bathing supplies. They all had the same generic shampoo and shower gel, and the same off-white scratchy towels. Castiel did not usually shower with the squad, so he waited until everyone was in their preferred stall before choosing one of his own. The stalls were little more than chest-high dividers with a door to give the illusion of privacy. Castiel thought they probably caused more problems than they solved, especially in a barracks without adequate supervision; they were no such problems in C Barracks.

There was good-natured ribbing among the young men. He let the familiarity of it wash over him; he could almost pretend those were his brothers’ voices. He put his head directly under the spray and held his breath until all he could hear was the beating of his heart. Finally, he stepped back and wiped the water from his face.

“You okay, man?” Dean asked from a few stall away.

Castiel faced him. Dean was scrubbing his arms and chest with a soapy washcloth. He tracked the progress of a cluster of soap bubbles as they slid down Dean’s shoulders, noting the bruises that marred his skin.

“I’m well.” He resolutely turned away, squirted some shampoo in his hand and began to wash his hair.

“You want to drown yourself, there’s quicker ways.” He glanced over and found Dean watching him as he rinsed the soap away. Droplets of water streamed down the muscles of his back, and he had to look away again.

“Thank you. I’ll take that into consideration.” Castiel grabbed his own washcloth and shower gel, scrubbing at the dirt ground into one elbow. He had his own scars; he wondered if Dean would ask about them, and what story he should tell. The truth wasn’t an option.

One by one, the squad finished showering and left, until only Dean and Castiel were left.

“What are you doing here, man?” Dean suddenly asked.

Castiel debated playing dumb for a moment and taking the question literally, but he fell back on the reason he’d given on his first day. “I needed a job.”

“There’s got to be better jobs. This kind of shit is for comps.” Dean turned off his shower and grabbed his towel, rubbing it over his dripping hair.

“I have my reasons. I should ask you about your injuries. They really came from falling out of bed?” Castiel ducked under the spray and rinsed off. When he looked at Dean again, he had turned away.

“I also walked into a door.” He grabbed his clothes and stalked out of the room without another glance at Castiel.

\--

That night, after supper, Castiel exercised his right to leave the confines of the camp, and took a walk along the road that led to the nearby city. He pulled his phone out of his coat pocket and hit a number. He let it ring twice before he hit the End Call button, and then he dialed a different number. This time, he allowed it to ring until someone answered.

“Sweets To The Sweet, Gabe speaking.” The voice at the other end was cheerful.

“Gabriel, do you even understand that reference?” Castiel asked in exasperation. He didn’t always understand his brother, for all they had grown up together.

“Of course I do. The point is that most people don’t. What’s up, little bro? What can I do you for?”

“I need information.”

“Well, duh, or you wouldn’t have called on the secure line. What am I looking for?”

“John Winchester. Anything you have on him.”

“You know, Michael could get this information for you a whole lot easier.”

“Michael would want more of an explanation than I’m willing to give at this time.”

“What, you mean any explanation at all?”

Castiel could hear the clacking of a keyboard as his brother used his unauthorized access to several government databases.

“Well, well, well, Cassie, you’ve got yourself a quite a catch here. Disturbing the peace, breaking and entering, assault, child endangerment, stalking, there’s quite a list of offenses here. He’s even a suspect in a murder or two, but there’s no evidence to support an arrest.”

“I see. What else?”

“You seem pretty sure there is an ‘else’.”

“I am.” Castiel stopped and leaned against a tree set back from the road.

“Okay. According to this, he’s on record as saying the fire that killed his wife and about fifty other people was an act of arson. It was ruled accidental. He’s apparently made the same claim about every major fire over the last eighteen years…and, whoa, there are a lot of them.”

“Fires?” Castiel wrinkled his brow. He thought of Jess’ scarred arms, and the recent reports of fatal fires that had been on the news. “Where are these fires taking place?”

“All over the place. In every city-state.” Gabriel typed a little more. “Oh, I think I see what you’re asking. Yeah, they’re mostly in the poorer sections, the pre-fab residential blocks, where overcrowding is a huge problem. Death tolls are usually in the hundreds.”

“Why has no one noticed this?”

“Didn’t say that, Cassie. Anyone who speaks up about it is labeled a criminal or a crackpot, like John Winchester. Or they get blamed for the fire themselves. If any officials try to investigate, they end up taking early retirement, or suffering a fatal accident. It looks like a pretty elaborate cover up. I had to access at least four different databases to piece this much together, and most of it is just me making huge leaps of logic.”

“Is there anything in there about his children? Dean and Sam Winchester.”

“Just that he gave them up to the Protectorate when Sam was eleven. Right after the child endangerment charge, in fact.”

“Are there any details?”

“That’s weird, there’s nothing. Just the charge. Like that’s not suspicious at all.”

“Is there anything about his most recent movements? Reported sightings, any new charges?”

“Well, someone was keeping a file on him, but there’s nothing more recent than a few months ago. Either they stopped tracking him, or he fell off the face of the earth.”

“Thank you, Gabriel, that might help explain some things.”

“What’s going on, Castiel? Do you need help?”

“Not at this time. I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

They said their goodbyes and Castiel put his phone away. As he walked back to the camp, he pondered what he’d learned. The connection between John Winchester’s disappearance and C Barracks’ sudden onset of mysterious injuries was obvious, but he still couldn’t figure out what was going on. Had Dean discovered his father being held prisoner somewhere, and he was working to free him? That didn’t make any sense. He was no closer to a working theory by the time he reached the camp.


	3. Chapter 3

The next two weeks went by quickly. Castiel continued to join the C Barracks during their physical training. As he suspected, he had to best both Sam and Jo before any of them took him seriously. He had yet to go up against Dean. He also made infrequent forays into the tunnel system, but it was fairly extensive, and he still hadn’t found the tunnel that he suspected led away from the camp.

When the night came for the mysterious disappearance to occur, Castiel sat and waited for Dean to show up at his door with another drugged drink. He wasn’t surprised at the knock on his door, but the fact that it was Adam standing there _was_ a surprise.

“We’re having hot chocolate. Dean brought it. This is for you.” Adam held out the mug and Castiel took it. He wondered if Dean had asked Adam to bring it, or if Adam had volunteered. He couldn’t quite make himself believe that Dean would deliberately involve Adam.

“Thank you,” he said gravely, and took a sip. The aftertaste was there, and he briefly regretted the need to dump it out; he didn’t often get to drink hot chocolate. “You should prepare for bed. It’s almost lights out.”

Adam’s eyes widened, then he looked down at the floor and nodded.

 

The guard loitered near the doorway, picking at his fingernails. Castiel considered his options. He would prefer his presence remain completely undetected, but he needed to know what was going on. If he knocked out the guard, they would be on high alert for intruders in the future. That would complicate any further reconnaissance on his part.

The guard suddenly straightened and looked around. Castiel stayed where he was, certain he hadn’t given himself away. The guard disappeared through the doorway. Castiel waited several minutes, but he didn’t return, so he decided to take his chance.

He slipped through the doorway and found himself in a dimly lit hallway. He had nowhere to hide if the guard decided to return to his post now. He came to a sharp corner and peered around it. He could see a portion of a brightly lit room. It seemed empty, but he had no idea how large it actually was. He crept closer until he could sneak a quick look. The room was large, with no furniture except for a long table along one wall with several first aid kits on it. The absent guard was there, standing in a wide doorway, watching whatever was going on. There were loud shouts and clapping, and occasional grunts of effort and cries of pain. Right next to where Castiel was standing, there was another doorway. He glanced at the guard, who was still engrossed, and slipped quickly through the opening.

Castiel was in a stairwell. He ran up the stairs as quickly and quietly as he could. At the top of the stairs, there was another narrow hallway, with several doors set in the wall. He opened the first one carefully. When it proved to be dark and empty, he ducked inside and closed the door behind him, grateful that it didn’t squeak.

There was a window opening in the far wall. It didn’t have any glass in it, and Castiel could hear the same sound through it that he had heard downstairs. He moved closer to look through it.

He was looking out over an arena, very similar to an ancient Roman coliseum. The fighting floor was covered in sand, and at that moment, there were four separate groups fighting. The only thing that set them apart was the color of their shirts. He could pick out Dean and the rest of C Barracks in their gray shirts. All of the fighting was hand-to-hand, but the participants were vicious in their attacks. Surrounding them on three sides was the audience,

 

 

\--

Castiel decided there was no point in putting it off. Gabriel still hadn’t found anything from any of his sources, which meant the fires, John Winchester’s imprisonment, and the gladiatorial fights involving _children_ were not officially sanctioned government activities, even if members of that same government took part in them. It wasn’t illogical to conclude that the people responsible for the fires were also responsible for the Winchesters’ situation, but there was no proof. Ultimately, it didn’t matter. Castiel would try to help Dean and other unwilling fighters. The possible existence of a shadow government could wait for another time.

“Dean.” Castiel pulled Dean aside as the rest of the squad left the barracks for the mess hall. “Dean, I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t try to drug me tonight.”

“How- I mean, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never drugged you.” Dean couldn’t meet his eyes, and he was rubbing the back of his neck.

“Not successfully, no. I believe I can help you.”

“To do what? Drug you? Which I haven’t done.”

“To free your father.”

Dean grabbed him by the lapels and shoved him into the wall. “What the hell do you know about my dad?” he hissed. His hard gaze searched Castiel’s face.

“I know that he is being held by someone who is forcing you to fight for the entertainment of others. I’m not sure why the rest of them are cooperating.”

Dean’s shoulders slumped. He let go and stepped back.

“The squad’s in it to help me and Sam. The others? Well, the guy made some big promises. You know, no serving on the front lines for any of us, no compulsory service. A cushy place to live and all the food we can eat, good food. No need to work. He basically promised we would be the ones sitting in the audience one day.”

“You don’t believe him.” Castiel straightened his jacket and stepped away from the wall.

“Of course not. So how’d you find out about my dad?”

“I followed you.”

“Why would you – Bobby. Dammit.” He turned abruptly and went to the window, staring out blindly.

“He knew something was going on. You know that. I’m only here because he couldn’t keep you under surveillance on his own.”

“I should have known he’d do something like this. Does that mean Victor was…” He waved his hand vaguely.

“Yes.”

“I guess that explains why they killed him. Okay. So, where do we go from here?” Dean turned to face him, brows raised.

“As I said, I can help you free your father. You should also go to Commander Singer with what you know. He may be able to help.”

“If – when – we get my dad free. Because I don’t actually _know_ what’s going on, yet. I think Dad was taken because of something he’s been working on for years. He may have proof to show Bobby.”

“You’re talking about the fires.”

“Jesus, you really – Yeah, the fires.”

“We should eat, then. We’ll make plans with the rest of the squad, and pray that everything follows those plans.”

“Fine,” Dean nodded. “After you.” He waited for Castiel to leave the room, following close behind him.

\--

Castiel huddled in the last tram car again, but this time, instead of trying to anticipate the unknown, he ran through the plan in his head. Dispose of the guard. Use the distraction provided by the ‘entertainment’ to join the watching crowd. Locate John Winchester and free him from his captors. As with all plans, he knew it wasn’t going to be that simple.

The tram jerked to a stop, and the guard hustled the squad out with sharp words and threats. While the man was occupied with them, Castiel slipped up behind him and wrapped an arm around his neck. The guard stiffened. Castiel tightened his hold and jerked the man’s head sharply to one side. The guard went limp and he lowered the body to the ground.

“Grab his nightstick,” Dean said as he led the way through the arched doorway. The guard had been armed only with a collapsible baton – perhaps not the best weapon, but still useful.

They followed the passageway to the waiting room. There were three other groups waiting there already, each of them keeping to themselves. Everyone was very quiet, making it easy to hear the occasional muffled sob or sniffle. Dean shared a nod with the leaders of the other groups – Jake, an  African-American boy about Sam’s age with a military bearing; Gwen, a tough-looking girl with pale skin and dark hair; and Becky, a perky blond whom Dean had said was more dangerous than she seemed.

“Shit,” Sam said. “Dean, look.” He was pointing at a long table set along one wall. Laid out on the table were various objects obviously intended to be used as weapons – steel pipes, different lengths of chain, and baseball bats.

“Shit,” Dean echoed Sam. He gestured for them to gather close to him. “Okay, I’m changing the plan a bit. You guys just follow my lead, and I’ll do my best to get you out of this. Cas, I still need you to try to get to Dad.”

Castiel nodded.

“Are we really going to go through with this?” Sam asked. “I think we all know what adding weapons to their sick little game means. Someone’s going to get killed, Dean.”

“Yeah, but if I can work it right, it may not be who they expect.”

Before Dean could elaborate, a man in an expensive suit walked into the room. Everyone immediately turned toward him, eyes watchful. Castiel eased himself behind Sam, trying not to draw any attention.

“Hello, boys and girls. Happy to have you all back again. What, no hellos?” The man laughed sharply. “I see you’ve noticed my little presents. We’re changing the rules a bit tonight.”

He waited, but no one spoke.

“I need more of a show. Schoolyard brawling is all well and good, but I’m losing customers. So tonight, no one is leaving until you’ve shown me just how far you will go to win.” He looked at Dean and smirked. “I don’t think I need to spell it out, do you? And make it look good, won’t you?”

The man left, and the room was suddenly filled with panicked voices.

 “Listen,” Dean said, his voice pitched to carry over the babble. The room quieted. “You really think he’s going to keep any of those promises he made? Bullshit. He’s going to make you do this until you’re dead. And if he does let you go, it’s not going to be to any so-called normal life.”

The other fighters shifted uneasily, but no one said anything.

“Do you want to kill each other so those assholes can get their rocks off? You wanna die for _them_?”

Some of the younger kids were shaking their heads.

“Look, we all know what we’re worth to them. We go out to the front lines and die so they don’t have to. We come to places like this and fight for their fucking entertainment. I’m done with that.”

“You talk big, Winchester,” Jake said. “What are you gonna do? Fight your way through the guards and kill the ringmaster? What good will that do? Whoever is behind this will replace him like _that_.” He snapped his fingers.

“If he’s gone, that gives us some time to come up with a better plan before he’s replaced,” Bela spoke up. “And if we cause more trouble than we’re worth, maybe they’ll give up.”

“And maybe they’ll just kill us all and start over with a new set of naïve babies who will believe everything they promise, just like we did,” Gwen said.

“We’re gonna need help, from people in official positions. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I can trust our camp commander.” Dean looked around at the others.

“Yeah, no. Our commander drove us here,” Gwen said. She pointed at Castiel. “That your commander?”

“He’s our barracks monitor, and he’s here to help,” Dean said. “I trust him, too.”

“None of this matters if we don’t survive tonight,” Sam cut in.

“And that’s why we should give them a show they aren’t expecting.  Get rid of the ringmaster and fall back, regroup. Figure out a way out of this.”

“You’re gonna get us all killed,” Jake said.

“If I’m gonna die anyway, I wanna choose how I go. I wanna choose _why_. But there’s a good chance we’ll survive.”

Jake snorted. “How do you figure that?”

“We’re all here because we’re the best, and there are more of us than there are of them.” Dean gestured through the wide doorway at the two dozen or so guards spaced evenly along the walls. Many of them were lounging around, obviously bored. There were more guards interspersed with the audience – private security for the privileged, mostly there to look tough.

“Some of them have guns, though,” Becky said, voice trembling.

“I won’t lie, there’s a good chance we’ll get hurt, maybe even killed. But that’s going to happen tonight, no matter what you decide.” Dean gestured at the weapons laid out on the table before them. “You wanna decide how you go out, or just lie down and let it happen?”

Gwen stepped up to the table and picked up one of the steel pipes. “I’m in.” The rest of her squad followed, each of them choosing a weapon.

Becky huddled with her group, speaking quickly but quietly. When they were done, she announced, “We’re in, too.” She gave Sam a hopeful smile as they armed themselves.

Jake stood with his arms crossed. “I’m pretty sure my team could take any of you. What’s in it for us?”

“Seriously?”

“We could sit this out, just…not fight. Why should we risk our lives?”

“So you won’t help us without some kind of reward, but you’re okay with the idea of beating any of us to a pulp, maybe even killing one of us, on their say-so?” Dean stared at Jake, eyes hard.

“If it guarantees me and my crew are alive at the end of the night, hell, yeah.” Jake stared back, a challenge on his face.

“Fine. Stay the fuck out of my way, or I will put you down.” Dean snatched up a length of chain and stalked away. Sam and the rest of the squad grabbed weapons and followed him over to the wide doorway, where they waited for the signal to begin.

Jake let his crew pick over what was left, though he took nothing for himself, and they withdrew to the opposite side of the room, away from Dean and his allies.

Castiel joined the waiting group, careful to keep out of sight. He held the baton loosely in his hand, ready to deploy it at a moment’s notice. His gaze swept over the group, his eyes meeting Dean’s as he did the same. Castiel gave him a short nod. Dean returned it, and then turned away to talk to Sam.

Someone moved up behind Castiel. He turned to find Adam standing there, a bat clutched in one hand. He looked down at the ground as soon as he caught Castiel’s eye.

“Adam?”

Adam shuffled his feet. “I’m not afraid,” he said. He drew himself up to his full height.

“I see.”

“I’m not. I just don’t know what to do.”

Castiel considered the boy. “You don’t have enough training to fight. Someone will have to protect you.”

Adam drooped. “I guess. Can I stay with you?”

“That wouldn’t be a good idea.”

Adam nodded and slumped against the wall.

“I believe Dean would prefer it if you were out of harm’s way tonight. Do you remember the way back to the camp?”

“Yeah, I guess. I mean, yes, I know the way,” he added at Castiel’s look.

“We may need backup. Go back to the camp and tell Commander Singer what’s happening. He’ll send help, and you must show them how to get here. You’ll have to walk – we don’t have time for you to figure out how to work the tram.”

Adam’s eyes lit up. He pushed away from the wall, but Castiel held him back.

“Not yet. Wait until Jake and his squad have gone. I don’t trust them.”

They didn’t have much longer to wait. The sound of an airhorn reverberated through the arena, and the waiting fighters broke into a jog, with each group clustering together in their own predetermined spots. Jake’s group was last; Castiel ignored the contemptuous looks he received as they passed him.

Castiel pulled out his flashlight and handed it to Adam. While the tunnel was lit, there were still darkened stretches that could be troublesome during his journey back.

“Go quickly,” he said. Adam nodded and hurried away. Castiel turned his attention to the spectacle in the arena. The suited man he had seen earlier, the ringmaster, was announcing the groups, dwelling on past victories and individual triumphs and injuries. The audience was watching avidly, and money changed hands as the ringmaster touted the addition of weapons to the evening’s entertainment.

“You’ve all been here before, and you know how this works,” the ringmaster announced. “Well, I’ve made another little change, and I think you’re going to enjoy it. Tonight, the winning group will literally be the last one standing. That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, this doesn’t end until we’ve got a body count, or, at the very least, some serious maiming!”

The crowd clapped and cheered, the sound echoing strangely from the high ceiling. As soon as it died away, Dean walked to the middle of the arena, facing the ringmaster.

“Screw you. All of you. You want to see a fight, come down here and fight. I’m not gonna kill kids so you can get your jollies.”

“You might want to rethink that, Winchester.” The ringmaster waved his hand, and one of his entourage shoved a scruffy-looking man forward to stand next to him. Castiel assumed it was John Winchester. “Who knows what might happen to dear old dad if you don’t cooperate.”

“You’re not gonna kill him. Not if you want to keep me your leash.”

“There are all kinds of nonlethal things I can do to him to get what I want out of you. But in the interest of moving things along…” The ringmaster pointed at one of the guards lining the walls. “You there, if this lot doesn’t do as they’re told by the time I count to three, shoot _him,_ ” he gestured at Dean, “in the knee.” The guard stepped forward and raised his gun, aiming at Dean.

“One.” Dean stayed where he was, fists clenched, the chain dangling from one hand.

“Two.” Nobody moved. Even the audience seemed to be completely still.

“Thr-“ A steel pipe flew through the air end over end, knocking the gun from the guard’s hands. In the next moment, someone – Gwen – slammed into the guard and they both fell to the ground. Gwen scrambled to her hands and knees and dived for the gun. The rest of Gwen’s squad raced toward her, some of them pouncing on the downed guard, the rest standing between her and the other guards, who were starting to converge on the pair.

Dean and Becky’s groups moved to help Gwen and the others, brandishing their weapons. Jake and his crew stayed where they were, Jake holding up his empty hands when one of the guards got in his face. Castiel slipped out the waiting room and raced to the nearest set of stairs leading up to the watching crowd. He got a few startled looks, but almost everyone was focused on the fight brewing on the floor of the arena.

“Stop them!” the ringmaster yelled. “Try not to damage them too much.”

Castiel made his way toward the ringmaster’s private box, all the while trying to keep track of the fight below. The guards were only using their fists or their batons, but their body armor gave them an advantage. Dean was in the thick of the battle, the chain wrapped around his fist, using the weight of it to add force to his blows, sometimes wielding it like a flail, disarming as many guards as he could. Castiel saw one of the guards grappling with Gwen over the gun, and Sam and Jess were fending off a huge man. The rest was mass of confusion, but no one on either side seemed to be mortally injured. The kids had the guards outnumbered, but Castiel could see some of the bodyguards in the audience standing, preparing to jump into the fight.

Dean managed to knock out his current opponent. He swung around, ready to defend himself against the next attacker, but for the moment he was clear. “I’m coming for you,” he hollered, glaring up at the ringmaster.

The ringmaster grabbed the bodyguard closest to him. Castiel was still too far away to hear what he said, but all but two of the guards left the box to hurry down the stairs toward the arena floor – and Castiel. They all carried guns and he was suddenly sure they had been told to use them. He opened his baton with a flick of his wrist and sped up, taking the steps two and three at a time. The oncoming guards hesitated, and the man in the lead managed to bring his gun up just as Castiel reached him. He knocked it aside and drove his shoulder into the man’s midsection, flipping him over his back and down the steps.

There were several shrill screams as the guard tumbled down. Two more guards stood in front of him, blocking the narrow aisle of stairs. He swiped at their legs with his baton, forcing them to fall back, and ran down the nearest row of seats, thankfully empty. They started to chase after him, until the ringmaster yelled, “I don’t care about him. Get your arses down there!” They immediately obeyed, trotting down toward the arena, barely pausing when they passed their fallen team member.

Castiel jumped up to the next row of seats, angling back toward the aisle. His approach wasn’t stealthy, but that had never been an option. He checked on the fight below once more. There were a few bodies on the ground, both guards and kids, but the neither side seemed to have the upper hand. Dean was still fighting. Castiel noticed some of the audience members slipping away, their bodyguards staying between them and the battle as they hurried toward the exit across a small section of the fighting floor at one end of the arena.

He reached the entrance to the private box and looked in. The ringmaster was at the front, leaning on the ledge as he looked down on the fight. The two guards flanked Winchester, who was slightly off to one side. He was also focused on the scene below.

“I don’t know who you are, nor do I care,” the ringmaster said without turning. “What do you think you’re going to accomplish now that you’re here?”

“I’ve come for John Winchester.” Castiel surveyed the open room. There were comfortable-looking chairs scattered around, and a table full of delicacies set up along one wall. Trying to rush the guards was not a workable idea, but if Winchester could take one of them, they might have a chance. Castiel doubted the ringmaster would put up much of a fight. He didn’t seem the type to get his hands dirty.

“Well, you can’t have him. One of you get rid of him. I don’t care how.” He waved his hand dismissively.

One of the guards, a heavy-set man in full gear, moved at his command. Castiel ignored him in favor of watching Winchester, who finally looked up. Their eyes met, then Castiel flicked his gaze over to the guard standing next to him and back again. Winchester smirked and gave a slight nod of his head.

Castiel waited for the approaching guard to get closer. Just as he was rounding one of the chairs, Castiel darted forward and swung his baton, connecting with the back of the man’s arm just above his elbow, causing him to drop his weapon and his arm to hang limp. While he was fumbling to grab the gun with his other hand, Castiel aimed a kick at the outside of his knee. The man’s leg buckled, and as he dropped, Castiel brought the side of his free hand down on the man’s exposed neck. He fell to the floor and was still.

Winchester had one arm around the other guard’s throat, and he was punching him in the small of his back and his side, where his body armor didn’t cover him. The guard was pulling at his arm, gasping for breath. Castiel turned his attention to the ringmaster, just in time to see him disappear over the ledge.

He hurried to the ledge and looked over. It wasn’t a long drop to the seats below, and the ringmaster was already scrambling away. Winchester joined him. “Crowley!” he shouted. “I’m gonna kill that son of a bitch.”

“There are more pressing matters. Dean and Sam-“ Castiel broke off as Winchester abruptly turned and raced for the door. By the time he caught up with him, they were more than halfway down the stairs. At that point, they were slowed down by the mass of people all trying to leave at once; apparently the ringmaster’s – Crowley’s – sudden bolt for freedom had inspired a panic in the crowd. Castiel searched for Crowley in the mass of people streaming toward the exit. It wasn’t until the man broke out of the mob and made his way over to Jake that he spotted him.

“What is he doing?” he said, mostly to himself, since Winchester was busy shoving his way through the crowd. As he watched, Jake and Crowley spoke briefly, shook hands, and Crowley jogged away. Jake then reached behind his back, pulled a knife from his waistband, and ran toward the heaviest concentration of fighting. His crew milled about aimlessly, until a few of them threw down their weapons and ran for the exit, mingling with the increasingly agitated crowd. The rest soon followed.

A shot rang out, and the screaming began. Castiel was surprised the guns hadn’t come into play sooner, and he searched for familiar faces. He was able to account for all of C Barracks, who were battered and bloody, but alive. He was just checking on Sam, who was pulling a guard off of a cowering child, when he saw Jake coming up behind him, knife ready.

“Sam, down!” John Winchester yelled. Sam dropped, and Winchester jumped onto the wall separating the audience from the fighting grounds, and then down, landing close to Jake. He lashed out with an elbow, catching Jake on the side of the head and knocking him down. Jake scrambled away.

“Dad!” Sam jumped up and hugged his father. Winchester returned the hug, then pulled away.

“Back in the game, Sam. We’re not in the clear yet.” Sam nodded and picked up his forgotten bat.

Castiel jumped down beside them and Sam nodded at him. There were more shots, but it was hard to tell who was doing the shooting. A few of the younger fighters had stopped fighting and were huddled in a little group against the wall. Sam started to walk over to them.

“Where’s Dean? Adam?” Winchester asked.

“I think Dean’s over there.” Sam pointed at the heaviest concentration of fighting. “I haven’t seen Adam all night. I don’t think he’s here.”

“Adam’s safe,” Castiel told Winchester. Suddenly, the man shouted, “Dean!” and took off running.

Castiel followed behind him. Dean was fighting two guards at once. He was bare-handed, the chain he’d had earlier missing. A third guard was coming up behind him, a steel pipe raised to strike him. Winchester tackled him before he could bring it down on Dean’s head. He tore the pipe from the man’s hand and tossed it aside, then wrapped his hands around his throat and squeezed.

Dean fought off his attackers and stepped back, allowing Charlie and Ash to take his place in the melee.

“Dad,” he said as soon as he caught sight of his father. Winchester looked up from the limp body of the guard he’d just strangled.

“Dean,” he said with a grim smile. Then his eyes widened. “Look out!” he shouted. He staggered to his feet, pushing Dean to the side as he did. Off balance, Winchester fell forward, right onto the knife Jake had been aiming at Dean’s back.

“That’s the second time you got in my way, old man,” Jake said, pulling the knife out and stabbing him over and over again, twisting it before he pulled it out for the last time. “You won’t be able to stop me a third time, fucker.” Winchester fell to the ground, his hands on his belly.

“He won’t need to, fucker.” Dean came from the side and hit him upside the head with a steel pipe.

Jake staggered under the blow, but pulled himself upright again. He waved the knife in front him. “Come on. Let’s see who’s the best. Come on.” He swayed a little on his feet.

Dean hit him again, landing the blow on his stomach. “You’re dead.” Jake was bent over, and Dean grabbed the back of his head and kneed him in the face. He fell to the ground, writhing in pain. Dean picked up the knife he had dropped. “You’re dead,” he said again, and dragged the blade across Jake’s throat, leaving him to choke on his own blood.

Dean crawled over to his father. “Dad?” He touched his shoulder gently. Winchester’s eyes fluttered open.

“Dean,” he rasped. “Finish it, Dean. And look after…” his voice trailed off.

Dean bowed his head, ignoring the fighting still going on around him. Castiel stood over him, baton ready, fending off anyone who tried to take advantage of Dean’s inattention to attack him. Dean stayed that way for several minutes, until persistent screaming from across the arena caught their attention.

A guard was dragging the screaming Ava by her hair, heading toward the waiting room where they had started the evening. Ash, Andy, Jo and Garth ran after them. As they closed in on the struggling pair, Ava suddenly stood up and ran behind the guard, who pulled his sidearm and starting shooting at them. The four squad members hit the ground. It was hard to tell if it was by accident or by choice.

“Ava, what the hell?” Dean yelled as he started to approach.

“He’s getting me out of here,” Ava shouted back. “We can’t go back to his boss empty-handed.”

“You’ll kill your own team? For what?” Dean held his hands out to the sides, trying to seem nonthreatening. Castiel, behind him, searched the ground for a better weapon than the one he had.

“So I can get out of this alive. So I’ll have a better life, with money and power.” Ava ducked back behind her human shield.

“We were your family, Ava.”

“My family abandoned me in that fucking place because they had too many mouths to feed. Family doesn’t mean shit. Shoot him,” she said to the guard. As he took aim, Castiel spotted a handgun lying on the ground a few feet away. He dived for it, picking it up and firing it a split second before the guard fired his. He staggered back when the bullet hit his vest, and Castiel fired again, aiming for the pale skin of his face. His second shot was more successful, and the man dropped. Ava stood there, shock plain on her face, and Castiel shot her in the chest. He tried to fire once more, but the only result was a dry click. Ava fell to the ground, though, making a second shot unnecessary.

Castiel turned to Dean, who was clutching his left side. “How bad is it?”

“Just winged me. I’ll be fine for now.”

Castiel tossed the empty gun to the side and stood. He turned to check the progress of the battle. The fight had moved closer to the departing mob, bringing the private bodyguards into it. Crowley’s guards had gained the upper hand.

“Well, Cas, you ready to rock?” Dean bent down and picked up the steel pipe he’d used against Jake. Castiel grabbed a bat that was lying near his feet.

“I am,” he answered, and the both ran toward the fray.

Objectively, Castiel knew the fight didn’t take as long as it seemed. He got lost in the flurry of _strike, block, evade, strike_ as he stepped in front of a boy struggling to fend off a guard, and a girl about to get her arm broken by a well-timed blow. At one point, he was back-to-back with Sam, taking on a group of four guards ranged against them.  The fleeing spectators grew more panicked, and Castiel could only be glad no more shots were being fired.

Soon enough, there was no one left for him to fight. There were still some individual battles going on, but those were tapering off as the guards seemed to remember their primary job was to protect their employers, not beat up teenagers.

Castiel scanned the arena. Sam was lying on the ground, unmoving, and he hoped he was only unconscious. He couldn’t find everyone from C Barracks, but he saw a couple of them walking around. He noticed Gwen and Becky, the latter with a broken arm. He was getting worried that there was no sign of Dean, when he spotted him, trapped under a dead guard.

Castiel ran over and rolled the body off of him. Dean lay there, unmoving, blood trickling from his nose and mouth. More blood soaked his shirt on his left side, seeping into the fabric in a growing stain.

“Dean?” He placed one hand on Dean’s chest, relieved when he felt the slight rise and fall. Around them, people were still running and screaming, fighting to get through the crowded exit. The remaining bodyguards formed a defensive line between their fleeing employers and the young fighters. Castiel hunched over Dean, shielding him as much as he could from the mob. There was a pillar nearby, and Castiel dragged him to it, putting it between them and the guards.

He set his back against the rough stone and propped Dean’s head in his lap, tilting him to the side so he wouldn’t choke on his own blood. If Dean had internal injuries, Castiel hadn’t done him any good, but there was little else he _could_ do. He ripped Dean’s shirt open to examine the wound in his side.

The fighting had degenerated into a tense stand-off, until Jo spoke up.

“Enough! All of you with guns, keep an eye on them.” She gestured at the guards facing them. “Everyone else, help our wounded. We need to get out of here before somebody brings back more thugs.”

No one moved for several tense moments.

“Move!”

Finally, the surviving members of C Barracks moved, Charlie and Garth taking up defensive positions with their stolen weapons, while Jess and Jo starting moving among the fallen. Jess immediately went to Sam, who was crumpled at the base of the steps leading up to one section of the seating. Slowly, the rest of the kids followed Jo’s instructions.

Dean stirred, coughing as he tried to sit up. Castiel held him down, keeping pressure on his wound. Dean lifted his head and spat out a mouthful of blood and a broken tooth. Castiel hoped that was the only cause of the blood dribbling from Dean’s mouth.

“Be still, Dean.”

“Cas?” Dean rasped. “We win?”

“We haven’t lost. Not entirely.”

“Sam!” Dean started to struggle against Castiel’s hold. “Sammy! Let me go, dammit!”

“Sam is right over there.” He pointed to where Jess was helping Sam sit up. Blood was trickling down his face from a cut on his forehead.

Dean relaxed against him abruptly, his breath hissing through his teeth. “Son of a bitch, that hurts.”

The uneasy truce held as the spectators fled. Jo came over to them.

“How many did we lose?” Dean looked grim.

“Ash, Max, Andy,” Jo recited, looking at the still bodies scattered on the ground. “Ava.”

“I should’ve killed her myself,” Dean ground out.

“No, you shouldn’t,” Jo said, tired. “Bela’s gone. Not dead, just not here.”

“Charlie won’t like that.”

“But she won’t be surprised. Besides, kiddie camp romances never go anywhere. Everyone knows that.”

“Never stops any of you from trying.” Dean’s face was turning pale, and beads of sweat dotted his forehead. “What about the rest of you? Injuries?”

“Sam’s got a knock on the head, but he’s moving around. Cuts, bumps and bruises for the rest of us. I can’t find Adam anywhere, though.”

“What?” Dean tried to get up, only to fall back, clutching at his side.

“I sent him back to the camp to get help,” Castiel said.

“The hell, Cas? You couldn’t have…have said…” Dean’s voice trailed off and his eyes fluttered shut.

“’Bout time the stubborn bastard passed out,” Jo said. “I better get everything sorted out before my mom gets here, then.”

“I’ll help.” Castiel moved to lift Dean off his lap, but Jo stopped him.

“You just stay right there. I don’t like the look of all that blood.” She waved her hand at his head.

“Blood?” He ran a hand through his hair, wincing when he found the wound on the back of his head. “I hadn’t noticed the injury.” He let his hand drop. His vision started graying out, and he carefully leaned his head against the pillar behind him.

“You, too, huh?” Jo’s voice sounded very far away.

“Yes,” he said, and closed his eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel opened his eyes. He was lying on a bed in a room he didn’t recognize. The smell of antiseptic was pervasive.

“Finally awake, huh?” Commander Singer was at the end of his bed. “Pretty convenient swoon, from what I hear. Got you outta clean up.”

“I didn’t find it very convenient.” Castiel sat up slowly, his head throbbing.

“Goddammit, why didn’t you come to me? There might be less dead kids if you had.”

“Dean asked me not to say anything to you. We didn’t realize the situation was going to escalate so quickly.”

“Dean will do - would have done just about anything for his dad. But me, I’d’ve gladly let John rot to have those kids alive right now.” Singer jerked his chair around. “Well, come on, we got plans to discuss.”

Castiel stood up shakily and followed after him. Singer led him down the hall to his office. Dean and Sam were there, Dean slumped in the uncomfortable looking chair Castiel remembered from his first visit, and Sam was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed. He took up a spot near the door and waited.

“Well, here he is,” Singer groused. “Let’s hear this brilliant plan.”

“Commander-“ Castiel began. He remembered more than the chair from their first meeting.

“Finally finished this little gadget.” Singer held up a device he had obviously cobbled together. “All they’re gonna hear is static.”

“Sam and me, we gotta disappear, Bobby,” Dean said. “For all those bloodsuckers know, we died in their goddamn arena. They don’t need to learn any different.”

“They will certainly kill Dean once they learn he is alive,” Castiel said.

“Gee, thanks, Cas. But, yeah, they’d probably like to  _try_ to kill me.” Dean turned his head and glared at Castiel from the corner of his eye. “And with Dad…gone,” Dean’s voice broke a little, “we got no reason to stay.”

“What about Adam?” Sam spoke for the first time since Castiel had entered the room. He pointedly did not mention Jess.

“What about him?”

“Yeah, what about him?” Singer echoed Dean, looking between the brothers.

“Turns out, Adam’s our half-brother. Are we just going to leave him here, Dean?”

“You really want him to tag along? You want that life for him?”

Sam looked away. “Will he be safe here? They know who he is. And what about the rest of the squad?”

“They got no use for Adam now, not with us out of the picture. The rest of the squad…well, I’m hoping that Bobby will fudge a few records, maybe lose them in the system.” Dean shifted in the chair, his hand on his injured side.

“I got a few strings I can pull. And there’s no way the big bads can know exactly who survived. I’ll get ‘em all clear as best I can.”

“I hate it, too, Sammy, but what else can we do? All of us were heading for death anyway, either in those fucking games or on the front lines. And where we’re going…” Dean shook his head.

“You’re not gonna keep out of this, are you?” Singer’s voice was resigned.

“I don’t know how much Dad told you-“ Dean began.

“I know enough.” Singer rolled over to his filing cabinet and pulled open a drawer. He reached behind the files and brought out a leather notebook stuffed with papers and clippings. “He sent this to me a while back. Musta been around the time they nabbed him.”

“Dad’s journal!” Sam pushed himself away from the wall and took the notebook. He flipped through the first few pages. “He always had this with him. Never let it out of his sight.”

“It’s got everything he learned about the fire that killed your mother. And the fires since then. I don’t know if he ever found proof of government involvement.”

“He may have let himself be captured,” Sam said as he continued to look through the book. “To get proof.”

“So, we’re going to lay low, and try to find people who know what’s going on, people who will talk,” Dean said. “Because, right now, these bastards are like some kind of puppet master shadow government. We need to expose them before they get so powerful they don’t need to hide.”

“I figured,” Singer said. He pulled a folder out of his drawer and set it on his desk. “I made these up for you. Some official documents you’ll need; travel papers are the most important. I know your dad taught you how to dummy up your own documents, but this’ll give you a head start.” He threw a misshapen envelope on top of the folder. It clunked when it landed. “And this will help, too.”

Sam grabbed the envelope before Dean could get up from the chair. “Sit.” He opened the envelope and dumped the contents onto the desk. A set of keys and a slip of paper fell out.

“What’s that?” Dean asked Singer.

“The keys to your dad’s car, and the address where it’s being stored.”

“No way. The Impala?” Dean held his hand out for the keys and Sam handed them over.

“Well, it’s a start,” Sam said. He walked over to the window and stared out at the empty practice field below.

“And I guess that brings us to you,” Singer said to Castiel. “You did what I asked, technically, so I guess I owe you an official sanction for contract work and a pay voucher.”

That didn’t seem to require a response from him, so he said nothing.

“Right,” Singer said after a moment. “You can get your pay voucher from Pam when you leave. She has all the paperwork, including your sanction.”

“Thank you.”

“Where will you go from here? You given any thought to that yet?”

Before Castiel could reply, Dean said, “He’s coming with me and Sam.”

Singer’s brows rose. “He is, is he?”

“Cas is in this just as deep as the rest of us. Of course he’s coming with us.” Dean turned painfully in his seat to look at him. “Right, Cas?”

“It appears that I am.”

“That’s settled then. We’ll leave in the morning.”

\--

The office was nondescript, filled with generic furniture – a desk, filing cabinets, bookshelves, and a couple of chairs.

“We’ve lost contact with our agent, ma’am.” The speaker stood at attention in the middle of the office, his military bearing at odds with the decidedly non-military uniform he was wearing.

His superior, a dark-haired woman in a business suit, sat at the desk, paging through a report. “You feel this is a cause for concern?”

“Ca- The agent has always maintained contact in the past. He may have been compromised. Or terminated.”

“According to my sources, he’s still alive.” She finally looked up at him. “Where’s there’s life, there’s hope, wouldn’t you agree? Alfie?” she added with a quick glance at the name sewn on his red-striped shirt.

“Ma’am,” ‘Alfie’ said in acknowledgement. He waited, but the woman went back to her report. “Ma’am? If he has been compromised…”

“Protocols are in place. He will fulfill his mission, regardless of whatever personal feelings he may have developed. Dismissed.”

‘Alfie’ began to salute, but instead he lowered his hand, turned, and left the room.


End file.
